


Ascending

by SpaceMalarkey



Series: Ascension AU [3]
Category: Linked Universe - Fandom, The Legend of Zelda & Related Fandoms
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Anger, Angst and Tragedy, Ascension, Blood and Injury, Burial Rituals, Conflict, Culture, Death, Denial, Divinity, Faked Suicide, Gen, Grief/Mourning, Healing, Linked Universe (Legend of Zelda), Loss, Major Character Injury, Memories, Moving On, Rebirth, Religious Discussion, major character deaths
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-02-05
Updated: 2021-01-06
Packaged: 2021-02-28 04:13:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 4
Words: 13,876
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22577611
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SpaceMalarkey/pseuds/SpaceMalarkey
Summary: The group of heroes from across time and space have journeyed far and defeated many foes. They have become more than just comrades, they have become brothers in arms, family. A strong family, dependant on every member.They have stood against anything the darkness can throw at them.But what happens when their family is broken? When the people whose presence they took for granted are no longer here?How do you grieve when everything in your life, in your past, tells you that you cannot afford such emotion?How do you grieve when you are still being hunted?A rewrite of my old fic "We are One"
Series: Ascension AU [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1590634
Comments: 68
Kudos: 175





	1. The End

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: descriptions of violence, blood, character deaths, alleged suicide (things are not what they appear)

This wasn’t good. Not good at all. The battle had dragged on for far too long, and the enemy kept coming. Where had they gotten their numbers from? Their strength? These monsters were nothing like the normal pawns of the shadows. No, these were stronger, faster, smarter. 

The hero of Time could feel his energy depleting, could see his fellow heroes struggle to outsmart the hordes spilling out from the trees like a river. Some of them were already down, desperately trying to find healing items in their diminishing supply. Others were holding onto their damaged limbs, trying in vain to keep their blood from coloring the vibrant grass crimson. 

The hero of the Sky was one of the few still fighting, furiously slashing and dodging out of vicious attacks. The hero of Winds had a bad gash in his leg, forcing him to play defence. Likely he had gotten that terrible injury protecting Time’s own protégé, the hero of Twilight, who could be spotted lying in the grass, trying to regain his footing without throwing up. His head was bleeding terribly. 

Time killed the moblin in front of him, yet was forced to dodge to the side and change his position as another took the place of its comrade, stabbing at the smaller Hylian with its massive spear. Somewhere to his right, a plume of fire broke through the ranks of the enemy. Time didn’t have to look to see where the assist had come from. They all knew the Hero of Legend had heavy firepower at his disposal. However the fire flickered, wavered, and Time knew his brother in arms was weakening. The sounds of battle coming from Legend’s direction told him they would be completely surrounded soon, with only himself, the Hero of Hyrule, the Hero of the Wilds, and the Hero of Sky holding the line. The rest of their numbers were either in need of healing, or barely managing to defend the ones who needed healing. 

Normally, the Hero of Warriors would shout orders and work through battle tactics in the midst of the chaos. This was not one of those times, as he was lying down in the grass, unmoving. The Hero of the Four Sword was by him, desperately trying to heal him back up. 

The enemy was closing in. 

Another clash behind him, and Hyrule was kicked to the ground, holding his arm close and gritting his teeth. 

It was impossible to see what had hit him. Which of the monsters was responsible for his broken arm. 

Time could hear them shout and grunt in pain. He could feel their agony as his own. His mind was reeling. His items, his gear. Did he have anything that could help in this hopeless situation? Everything was so loud, he could barely think. 

And then, silence. 

There was a whisper from somewhere, like incoherent muttering. He had heard this before, he was certain. He had promised himself that he would never use it again, not after what happened last time. Not even if it meant he would never come home to Malon ever again. 

But his life wasn’t the one he feared for. 

A quick look around him confirmed his worst fears about to come true. Darkness closing in, one by one his companions sustaining injuries, forcing them back. 

Time took a deep breath, and pulled out the mask from his bag. The whispers became louder, more frantic. 

The Fierce Deity mask looked off. Little cuts and chips in the wood stained by the black blood of his enemies. The whispering sounded like a demand. Doubt filled his very soul. Should he do this? 

A shout from his left, Wild growling as an arrow hit his thigh. Sky was shouting commands in a voice Time didn’t recognise. He sounded furious. 

Yes, it was time to do this. 

The Hero of Time, someone whose legend reached further than anyone else in history, made what was his last action with his free will. He pulled on the mask.

This was wrong. Everything was wrong. What he first thought were whispers came to him as confused screams. His vision turned red, his veins stained with the black blood, slowly taking over his body. The Deity was screaming, angry, painfully, desperate. Time had never heard it sound like that before. The Deity was an absolute power, never having to fear anything. 

Now, it had lost control. It had lost its host. Time could only watch as his body moved against his will. At first he was relieved to see that the monsters seemed to be their first target. The Deity furiously cutting down all those abominations that had attacked them in the night. Fire surging in their joined soul.

Then, when all the monsters were dead, Time had hoped that he would be able to pull the mask off. His arms wouldn't move. The Deity was still screaming. Confused as to who the target was. Terrified of whatever was hurting them. Furious at whomever could cause such agony. 

Time felt his blood go cold when Sky entered his vision, bloodstained and frightened. 

He was trying to say something, trying to calm them down. It made the Deity scream even louder.

Before he knew it, he was attacking Sky, who barely managed to dodge out of the way of a swift attack. But the Deity was quicker than any mortal. Time felt his arms swinging the massive blade, and felt the force of a body being hit by it. Barely heard the screams of someone unfortunate enough to meet it head on. Everything was muted, like he was underwater. Everything hurt, like he was being tortured. He had to get out. They had to be free. They had to end the ones hurting them.

More screams, more shouts. More blood across the grass. Time could no longer tell who was hit and who was safe. He couldn't tell if his fellow heroes were safe, where they had gone. Why he was alone fighting these monsters. The Deity screamed again, and Time was reminded that he was not alone. He was with someone so powerful, he could make it through anything. 

When did he use the mask? He couldn't remember. Everything was blurred in fire and blood. In screams of the divine and pain of cuts and bites.

No matter. He would have to crush these enemies first, and then he could find the others. Red stained his vision, but he could barely make out a figure ahead of him. Perfect. As one, hero and deity raised their blade, ready to cut down their opponent. With a grunt, they slashed down, crushing the earth underneath them, and cut their enemy in half. 

Only there was no resistance in the swing. They had missed. 

How did they miss? Curious. 

They wiped their eyes free of the red, to search the battlefield for their foe.

There, they saw him, glaring at them with determined eyes. 

Themselves. 

The Fierce Deity. 

How could this be? Surely this was a foul trick. Sorcery. 

They gave their mirage another close look. The clothing was the same, and yet, the stature was different. Smaller, weaker. Their sword, however, was the same. The power radiated from it, unmistakable even in the darkness and the haze of the battlefield.

A pretender, nothing more. A soon to be dead pretender, they thought. 

Growling, they readied their stance, and attacked, faster than any mortal could ever comprehend. And still the hit did not land. Their pretender had dodged somehow. 

Interesting.

They swung around, catching their prey by surprise and unleashed a series of swift slashes. Their pretender couldn't escape all of them, taking several cuts as a consequence. He staggered, and fell to his knees. 

A noise followed, muffled screams from the other side of the battlefield. 

They looked down at the pretender, their blade held high, ready to strike one final blow.

The pretender looked up, blue eyes piercing through the haze, and Time was suddenly aware of himself again. This wasn't an enemy, it was his comrade. The mask on Wild's face broke apart to reveal his true face staring up at Time, defiant and determined. Yet, there was something more in those fierce eyes. Pain, sorrow. Confusion. 

Confusion mirrored in himself. Confusion mirrored in the deity's cries. Enemy? Friend? Had they hurt their friend?

Time wanted to throw his weapon away, wanted to rip the mask off his face, wanted to stop everything and go back to whatever he had before. He made to remove the mask, yet his hands wouldn't obey. 

The whispers came back, and Time was hit by the horrible realisation that he had indeed heard the whispers before. But they never originated from the mask. 

The whispers that sometimes could be heard before battle. The whispers after he cut down a corrupted monster. 

The whispers of the black blood.

With all his strength, his arms swung down at his friend, and Time could hear the deity scream once more. Before he could feel the flesh of another tear open by his hands, he felt something else. A sharp sting, forcing itself into his chest. A massive blade tearing his flesh apart and burrowing through him, until it tore open his back. 

Sound came back. 

The crackling of fire nearby. Terrible screams and shouts from afar. Wheezing right in front of him. Whimpering. His own desperate gasps.

Something on his face cracked, shattering and peeling off his skin. The mask was breaking, freeing Time's body. He blinked, vision returning to him. Slowly he tilted his head upward, trying his best to look his killer in the eyes. 

Wild stared back at him, terror and shock twisting his face. Ah, he shouldn't look like that. Not when all he did was defend everyone. Time wanted to tell him it was alright. Wanted to reassure him he did the right thing. Tell him of the black blood's corruption. 

He had no strength left to do so.

As he slid down onto his knees, he heard the whispering once more. They were growing faint, almost like they were moving. 

Time looked down to see his blood flowing freely out of him, specks of black flowing with it. Instead of relief, he felt terror take hold of his soul once more. His blood was running over Wild's arms. Coating Wild's wounds. 

The whispers left his mind, only to enter his ears from directly in front of him instead. 

The last thing he would hear in life was the younger hero begging him to not die, begging him for forgiveness, whilst the whispers tainted his voice. 

He had failed.

* * *

The worst part was that Wild wasn't screaming. The worst part was that he was hurt, bleeding, and crying. The worst part was that he was whimpering and begging Time to open his eyes. 

The worst part was that once again, he had to do something so horrible all alone. Legend didn't know what to do. He didn't know what to think first, and who to help. He didn't know who needed him the most. 

Twilight was frozen in shock, staring at his mentor and his killer with wide eyes, unable to comprehend what reality lay before him. Warriors looked horrified. Looked around them in an effort to get a handle on the situation. Sky was running towards the two bodies, desperate to try and save the dead from their fate. 

The rest of them seemed to get the idea. He was dead. 

The Hero of Time was dead.

Slowly they started making their way towards the body. None of them wanted to acknowledge this. None of them could fully comprehend this. How could this have happened? 

Legend watched as Sky turned to Wild, who still had not moved from his position. He was trembling, eyes filled with tears. Sky said something to him, Legend did not know what, and Wild flinched away, getting up faster than he had ever seen his fellow hero move, and ran off into the surrounding wilderness despite his injuries. Sky had tried to grab him before he could run, but he wasn't fast enough.

Hyrule limped over to Sky, placing a hand on the first hero's shoulder. 

"Let him go," he said, voice soft, yet heavy with emotion. "He needs to breathe."

"You are going to let a killer go?" Four growled. His eyes were a blazing blue. 

Hyrule glared back at him, but before he could say anything, Wind interrupted with a trembling voice. 

"What happened? How could Time attack us like that? How could Wild-" he gasped, unable to finish the sentence.

"How could you throw the blame around so swiftly?" Sky demanded, keeping his eyes fixed at Four. There was conflict in the shorter hero's eyes. Flashes of color before they settled on a bright red. 

"Only one of us ran after stabbing him!" he yelled. Quickly he calmed somewhat. "I don't know what to think, it's like everything is turned upside down! Please tell me this is just a horrible nightmare!" The shorter hero grabbed his head, fingers curling around his blonde hair tightly, in a vain attempt to make it all disappear. 

"I'm sorry," Legend found his voice, rough and breaking. "This is no nightmare. This is far worse."

He watched as everyone tried to process what had just happened. Where the monsters had come from, and why Time had gone berserk. How Wild had managed to barely defeat the rampaging power Time had pulled from nowhere out of desperation.

Watched as Twilight slowly moved over to the body of his beloved mentor, his ancestor, and gently placed a trembling hand on a pale and cold cheek. Listened as Twilight tried to reason with reality. 

"Hey... Old man. Get up, will you? Don't... Don't joke about this. Please don't."

Twilight's soft pleas silenced any arguing, any raised and angry voices, silenced all the accusations flowing freely in the air. 

"You promised her, remember? You promised you'd be back in her arms."

Wind walked over to him silently, and stood there quietly, letting his own tears flow freely and letting everyone see his sorrow. Letting Twilight know it was okay to feel what he felt at that very moment, and that he wasn't alone.

Warriors cleared his voice. 

"We should find Wild."

Before anyone could protest, he gave them all a stern look. 

"No one should be alone right now. No one deserves that." 

Four's eyes settled on a violet color, and he nodded. Sky gave him a determined look in return, telling him with his eyes alone that he would remain there, and if anything dared attack, he would bring about a swift end to it. 

Hyrule stood up, and moved over to where they had seen Wild run off to. 

"Im going." he said, leaving no room for protests. 

"I will too," Legend walked over to stand by his descendant. Whether or not Wild was a threat didn't matter. He wouldn't let Hyrule go off on his own. Not this time.

"I will as well," Twilight managed to stutter. Carefully he laid Time down in the grass, gently moving his hands away from the body. 

"Are you sure?" Warriors asked him. "No one will think ill of you if you would rather stay here."

Twilight took a deep breath and rubbed his eyes free from tears. 

"I’m sure. I won’t let him do this alone."

Warriors let the three of them go with a promise that they would come back as soon as they could. Legend, Hyrule and Twilight took one look at each other, all confirming at a glance that they were all here for one reason, and one only. To make sure Wild wasn't alone with this burden. 

None of them wanted anything more. 

They started for the nearby twisted forest, lanterns filled with oil and magic to last all night. 

They had to find him.

* * *

He was running. All he could do was run. To where, he did not know. He just needed to get out of there. He couldn't stand the ringing, the horrible thoughts bombarding his mind. He couldn't stay there, staring at the corpse of a person he had come to see as a respected leader and friend. 

He didn't want to feel the blood running over his arms and clothes. 

He ran. Until he couldn't tell where he was. Until he was surrounded by trees and bushes and dead, twisted branches.

He quickly discarded his bloodstained clothing, equipping his normal blue tunic with the tap of a button and a flash of blue light. Something in him kicked off his flight instincts, and he kept running, trying desperately to find water. 

There, a small body of water reflected the bright moon. 

Wild threw himself into it, scrubbing his arms furiously. 

It had to come off. Please, it had to come off him. He couldn't stand it, the blood, the death of someone he held dear. Not again.

Tears clouded his vision once more, and he had the horrible sensation of being watched. He crossed his arms, hugging himself as he fought to keep moving. Barely made it up from the water and away into the trees once more. Slower this time, sapped for energy. 

His legs and arms ached, the cuts he had received from his fight against Time painfully reminding him of his sins.

 _You did this_ came a whisper. 

"No," he sobbed, trying to outrun the voices. They had caught him. 

_His death was your fault._

"Please."

_Murderer._

He felt his strength faltering. Felt his body move on its own. 

_You deserve this_ came the whispers. Over and over, from every direction. It wasn't around him, he realised, it was inside him. 

_Failure._

Something was wrong. He could feel his limbs move without his command, tapping the slate and retrieving something from it. He couldn’t move his head to see what he was holding. Dread filled him, and the whispers became screams. 

Until it all stopped. 

He felt cold ice stab through his chest, spreading slowly before exploding in a familiar sensation. Agony flooded his mind, and he looked down to see his own hands clutching the hilt of a long dagger, buried within his body. His mind grew heavy, vision blurring from tears and pain. 

He knew this pain, knew what it meant, and what it would lead to. 

In a last, desperate show of strength, he regained enough control of his body to fall backwards, hitting the ground with his face turned to the open skies in the small clearing he had managed to run into.

 _"Couldn’t even die alone,"_ Wild thought, as whispers of hatred and malice accompanied him into a never ending sea of black. 

* * *

Legend knew something was off the second they reached the forest edge. His companions paused next to him, and from the look of their faces, they felt it too. As they made their way through the trees, the further in they got, the more unnerved the three heroes became. Wild had a nasty tendency of being near impossible to track if he didn’t want to be found. What they were seeing was signs far from a normal upset Wild.

He had been leaving messy tracks everywhere, not even bothering to try and hide where he was going. That could be extremely dangerous for people like them. Monsters would find the tracks and follow, eager for an easy kill. As they followed the tracks, Hyrule pointed out something that made Legend’s blood run cold.  
“The tracks go in circles,” the traveller’s voice trembled when he spoke. “It’s like he didn’t know where he was going. I don't like this, Vet.”  
“I don’t either,” Legend muttered. “If he is this messed up, who knows what he might have gotten himself into?”  
There was a whimpering sound from his right. Twilight shuffled in place, his brows furrowed in worry.  
“We need to find him. This isn't good, he shouldn't be alone like this.” 

Legend made a sound of confirmation, before the three set out at a faster pace, hoping to find Wild before he could run too far in panic. 

Their wish was granted soon after. 

Legend would look back on this night and remember it as the night they lost two of their own. When they found the small clearing and a body in the grass. 

When Twilight shut down as he looked into Wild’s lifeless eyes. 

When Hyrule’s survival instincts kicked in so violently, he took a defensive stance instead of rushing forward to check on his best friend. 

Legend would never forget the feeling of lukewarm skin as he felt for a pulse in vain. He tried finding any clue as to why this had happened. Who could have done this. What monster could have taken advantage of their friend in his confused and broken state? 

He remembers the soft, trembling voice Twilight spoke with as he tried rousing Wild. Remembers the horrible the sound of Twilights begging, and the feeling of his own heart beating so fast, thinking Wild’s killer to be nearby still. He hadn’t been dead for long. 

“Please, Wild. You still have so much you need to do. You wanted to talk to Zelda, remember? You wanted to try and figure out who you are. You can’t end it like this, you can’t!” 

Twilight’s trembling and crying filled the silent clearing, reaching Hyrule’s ears and filling him with the realisation that his best friend was gone. 

As Twilight’s cries grew louder, Hyrule could feel his own chest filling with a horrible sensation. He had felt sorrow before, he thinks, but not like this. 

The sensation was made worse by Legend’s soft, grief stricken voice. 

“Twi,” the experienced hero paused, waiting until his fellow heroes turned their attention to him. “This is _his_ dagger.” 

Legend’s voice broke, holding up Wild’s hunting dagger, covered in blood. The dagger Wild only used for butchery. Hyrule felt his hope for an enemy disappear. Twilight’s grief took hold of him completely. Legend curled his body over the body. 

“He did this himself,” he whispered. 

The darkness slithered away into the shadows, away from the heartbreaking scene. 

This was only the beginning. 


	2. Heavenly lies

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lots of Skyloft headcanons
> 
> Warnings: violence, unhealthy coping mechanisms

The trek back took hours. None of the heroes wanted to go back to a reality where two of their number were dead. Two of their family were killed in a single day, in such a tragic way. The three companions had to take turns carrying the body, as well as taking breaks from their shattering burden. 

Twilight was completely broken, refusing to say anything after begging and crying when they had found Wild. Legend didn’t know what was worse, his shattered silence, or his desperate screams. 

Hyrule had been crying and trembling constantly. He didn’t want this to have happened, couldn’t accept that his mischief buddy was gone forever. A part of him tried to accept it, but another was fighting reality. He accepted to carry his friend on his back, and during their breaks, he would hold him close to his chest and brush his fingers through Wild’s hair. Almost like he thought Wild could feel it, and take comfort from it like he once did. 

When he was alive. 

Legend had no such delusions. He had seen death countless times before. He had seen his friends and family die only to then revive them and make everything worse. He was no stranger to death, or the miracles surrounding it. However, as the three heroes passed the tree line to the clear sky and open grasslands, Legend felt his hope smothered. There was their camp. There was the other body of their beloved family, as well as the rest of the mourning. 

They were about to receive harsher news than they could ever suspect. 

Legend paused, thought it over in his head, thought of all the times he wished someone else would take charge. Thought of all the times he wished he had been spared of the duty of taking charge of a horrifying situation. 

Legend looked at the curious, grief stricken eyes of his comrades, and made a decision. 

They wouldn’t have to bear this burden. Not when he already borne it, and still to this day, until the very end of his days, would bear it. 

There was a quiet over the camp like he had only ever seen once, in his own troops back home. Warriors knew what the death of his troops meant. What it meant for his remaining ones to live past their comrade. He knew the silence of mourning. He knew the shock. He knew what it would mean going forward. As he turned his gaze towards their charge, he felt a small stab at his heart. Wind was cradling Time’s cold hand to his chest, silently letting his tears fall freely down his cheeks. Warriors had hoped he wouldn’t have to know the pain of losing someone close to their heart, yet the calm in Wind’s posture, and the look in his eyes told a different story. Wind had seen this before, knew what it truly meant. 

He really was more mature than any of them could imagine. 

And yet there was a part of Warriors that wished he could shield the smaller hero from all of this pain. Even if that would be a gross disservice to him. 

The war veteran let his gaze wander to the other people in the camp. He took in Four’s confused stare into the flames, saw the barely contained emotion under Sky’s skin. His own feelings be damned. 

They couldn’t go on like this. They would never make it if they didn’t have anyone to lead them. Warriors sighed, rubbing his face and closing his eyes. They would have to find the ranch. They would have to return Time to his wife. 

And he would guide them there, bury his own feelings for the same of the mission. Yes, that was what he would do. 

There was a gasp, and Warriors looked up to see Wind staring towards the tree line. Lights. 

The other party was coming back. 

Warriors sat up, getting ready to tell everyone of their new mission, when Legend came jogging towards them. Why would he abandon the others? Why would he need to go ahead of the rest of them?  
Warriors knew, deep in the back of his mind that it could only mean something horrible had happened, and instantly his heart felt like someone was squeezing it. 

Legend stopped in front of Warriors, a light in his eyes that the war torn hero never wished he would ever see again. 

Despair. Sorrow. Grief. 

Warriors knew what it meant. Yet, he waited for the words anyway. Let Legend gather himself enough to speak. 

“Wild’s-” Legend managed, before he chocked on a sob. Almost like he had just realised it himself, despite existing next to this horrible new truth for hours. Almost like he had just accepted it. 

That was all he needed to say. 

Warriors felt his arms move to hold Legend’s shoulders. Felt them give those unfairly small shoulders a reassuring squeeze. 

“Thank you,” he said, letting the commander in him take over, and completely shut out everything else. “Thank you for being so strong.” 

Legend only looked at him with tear filled eyes, and nodded sharply. The fire was back in his eyes, mingled with so many other emotions. Yet, Warriors knew he could count on Legend to see this through.

Their mission hadn’t changed, it had become significantly more difficult, and near unimaginable. 

* * *

Something broke inside him when he saw Hyrule carrying Wild’s body out from the trees. The way Hyrule’s green eyes shimmered with grief as he determinedly walked over to where the others had placed Time. He didn’t stop for any of their questions, only kept walking. The travelling hero placed what remained of his friend gently next to the body of their other beloved family, and only then did he allow himself to curl over Wild’s chest and cry. 

Wind had been shaking his head, muttering denials and held onto Time’s hand like it would offer him any comfort. Like it would hold him and ruffle his hair and grace him with a proud smile, as warm as the sun itself. 

Four had stared, in complete shock, his earlier confusion and fractured responses of anger and blame forgotten. 

Twilight had simply stood there, staring blankly at his mentor and what would easily have been his little brother. 

Warriors had closed his eyes in a brief show of sorrow, hugging Legend and speaking to him in a low voice. 

They all felt such grief and sorrow. 

Sky only felt a burning rage slowly break through his last barrier. 

He didn’t let them see it. They didn’t deserve to deal with his long festering hatred as well as the death of two beloved comrades. 

Sky kept his hatred to himself, like always. But this time it was threatening to spill over, to take him over completely and make him do things he could never take back. So instead of letting the fire inside him consume everything, Sky turned and left. 

He could hear voices behind him, some asking where he was going. He didn’t care. He had to get away from them, or they would be consumed as well. 

Sky had never been more grateful for Legend and Warriors, as he could hear their voices telling the others to let him go. That he needed time alone, and that he would come back. 

He didn’t go into the forest. Not after what it had done to Wild. 

No, Sky walked into the endless grasslands, and when it felt like his legs would give in, he stopped, sat down on the ground and screamed into the heavens. 

A scream filled with all his hate, all his malice, everything he had been holding in ever since he was still a small child living in Skyloft. 

Ever since he learned the truth.

Sky thinks back to everything he knows. Everything he grew up believing. It is said that every person on Skyloft had half a soul upon birth. That their lives would be forever lesser without their other half. Another piece of their soul, soaring through the skies, and making them whole. He remembers his parents telling him that without a loftwing, a person wouldn’t be able to survive.

The only truth in the lie that was Skyloft.

  
  


Sky remembers staring at the headstones at the center of the island, asking his mother what the strange stones were for. He was so small, barely coming up to her knees at that point. He remembers the feel of her dress in his small hands, the way the linen scratched gently against his skin when the wind caught it. He remembers a warm hand on his, silently asking for him to let go of the fabric. He remembers being picked up and curling his short arms around his mother’s neck as she held him close to her chest. 

He remembers her voice, sounding like the wind chimes outside his window.

“Those are stones of remembrance, my little dove,” she had chimed. “When someone passes on to the winds, we mark their names on those stones.” 

He remembers asking what passing to the winds meant, and he remembers the belief his people hold so desperately close to their hearts, lest they go mad with despair. 

He remembers his mother telling him how people die. How Skyloftians and their other halves one day disappear entirely, without a trace and without leaving anything behind. No bodies, no messes. Nothing but the wind in their wake.

“We are a people of the skies, little dove,” Mother had said, kissing his chubby cheeks and smiling her brilliant smile as she was met with happy giggles. “We are of the skies, and we shall once again become the skies. The winds are us, and we are wind.”

He remembers his home, his house. He remembers how he had seen the earth from the outskirts crumble and fall. To where, he didn’t know at the time. They had disappeared completely, and he had never seen it again. When he asked his father about it, he was met with a small laugh and a large hand ruffling his hair affectionately. 

“Do not worry, little one. We are safe here, the goddess provides for us.”

He had accepted that answer, like a complete fool. Like if he believed or prayed hard enough, then Skyloft would stay safe. It would stay in the sky, whole and protected. The perfect paradise for Hylia’s chosen people. 

And yet, the earth still crumbled. The crops on the outskirts of the city plummeted to wherever gravity took them. The trees and the fields, their farms and source of food. One by one, the crumbling earth took them all down past the clouds with them. 

The day came when someone decided something had to be done. There was a meeting in the village, and naturally that meant all the children were snooping. 

He remembers holding hands with Zelda as they snuck around the academy building. He remembers the sound of all the other children also following after them, waiting to see if the two bravest children in the city would succeed in sneaking past the windows. 

A meeting of the knights, as well as all the adults in the city was held, where they discussed their dire situation in great detail. 

The children all listened in with astonishment as they learned just how bad their home had become. More than half the city had been ripped from the main foundation around the statue of the goddess, and had fallen past the cloud barrier. Every fertile land was now drifting from Skyloft, like a rogue rock in the sky, or crumbling and disappearing beneath them. 

Skyloft was in a massive crisis, and the knights had to do something. 

He remembers how one by one, the knights had volunteered to go secure the rocks now floating freely from the main island. One by one they raised their arms, dedicating themselves to save their people. 

Then, his parents raised theirs. Offering to go on the most daring mission. To fly past the borders of what they knew as their sky, and find salvation in other places should Skyloft one day fall. They refused to step down from this task, their eyes burning with determination. 

Their child, outside, could feel the children stare at his back, but he couldn’t take his eyes off his beloved parents. They weren’t just doing this for Skyloft, they were doing this for him. So he would have a safe place to live and grow. 

The meeting concluded, and all the children ran home before their parents could catch them. All but one. 

Sky had walked home slowly, dragged out the time it would take for him to reach his house. He didn't want them to go, didn’t want them to fly away. As he opened the door, he was met by understanding looks. They knew he had spied. 

He didn’t say anything, only cried. Cried as his mother cradled him close, cried as his father kissed the top of his head. 

Maybe he knew already then.

The day his parents flew away was the last time he ever saw them. 

He had been going to school as usual and promised Zelda he would come for dinner. They always did this when his parents were away, making sure he was taken care of yet still granting his privacy. He said goodbye to her so he could go home and do his homework before dinner. 

He never made it home. 

He had walked on the small dirt path to his house when suddenly the path ended in a drop. Where his house once stood, there were now empty skies and winds. He remembers standing there for hours, staring into the skies in shock. 

Zelda had come to get him, but even she couldn’t get him to move. 

It wasn’t until the headmaster picked him up that he realised how cold it was. 

He didn’t say a word, didn’t cry, didn’t scream or beg the goddess for his parents back. In his small childish mind, he had come to the realisation that his parents were gone. They would never return, and he would never have a home again. 

  
  


Sky glared, felt the rage inside him surge as he kept screaming at the stars. What was the point? Why did Hylia allow this? Why did this existence spell nothing but misery and pain for them? Why did they have to take away two of his successors? Two people who he had, through his curse, condemned to this end. Two people he had loved so dearly, like they were his own. 

_And they were._

The thought crushed his anger for a few moments. Silenced his screams and crippled him with sobs. Sky curled in on himself, pressed his hands against his chest and cried. Let his grief out for the night sky to hear. If the others heard him, they made no mention of it when he returned to the camp, eyes red and a mind filled with a barely restrained fire. 

The next few days had been spent making a cart to pull their dead. 

Four had immediately thrown himself at the task, as had Hyrule and Wind. Sky had felt completely useless where he sat, trying his best to figure out what to eat and what to forage from the wilderness. It only served as a reminder how they have lost the person who was best at this. 

He heard Warriors and Legend talk about their supplies, and how long the journey might take. Hearing Warriors calm Legend with rationality and a task to do reminded him so much of Time. He hadn’t seen Twilight at all since he woke up. 

They were all barely held together by Warriors and his ability to command. 

What a joke. 

Sky kept to himself, tried making himself useful by sorting their rations, but all the task did was free up his mind to wander once more. Back to the past, reminding the fire inside him why it was there, and why it would never go out. Why it would stay, tormenting him forever. 

  
  


Sky remembers having tried taking solace in his mother's words to him the day he asked about the stones of remembrance. The stones that still didn’t carry the names of his parents.

There had been a ritual, explained to him as something Skyloftians did whenever one of their numbers became one with the winds. Everyone in the city had gathered by the edge, soft voices and silent crying accompanying the clear skies. He had been given a paper lantern, and a small fire. Headmaster had told him in a soft, warm voice that the lights were meant to guide the spirits of the winds. To reach them and bring them back to Skyloft, where they belonged. Where they could guide their children and loved ones and keep them safe. 

Sky had lit the lantern, and watched as it gently floated out from the island and into the sky. Several more followed, creating a false starlit heaven around them all. 

He remembers feeling something, something ugly and burning in his chest. 

Headmaster had told him that the next step was something he had to do, as part of the ritual. The stones of remembrance required a loved one to write the names of the departed. 

Sky refused. 

Everyone looked shocked when he said it. Started muttering about bad luck and bringing hatred to himself. Sky didn’t care. They all acted as if his family was still here, like they would come back and be with him as something he couldn’t touch, or couldn’t be protected by. The wind would never hold him and kiss his head. It would never bring him warmth, and it would never bring him a voice like chimes, telling him stories and telling him how dearly he was loved. 

The wind would do nothing but chip away at the ground he stood upon, slowly taking away everything he had ever known. 

He would never give into the delusion of those stones. 

He was proven right years later. 

Rapidly, the people of Skyloft seemed to die. Or rather, turn to wind as they would say. One by one, Skyloftians would disappear left and right, and the skies filled with false stars. 

There is a well known fact that Skyloftians are only one half of a whole. Their other half is their loftwing. Yet Sky had never seen a loftwing after its other half’s death. 

One day, he was out flying with his crimson loftwing when he came upon a strange island he had never seen before. He had crash landed there, fog obscuring his vision and making it impossible for him to see. He checked on his other half, thankful that the bird was unharmed despite the awkward landing. His fears had only begun. 

Exploring the island revealed several bones. Loftwing bones. 

The center of the island was filled with them, piling them on top of each other in a grotesque tower. In his haste to find the edge of the island, so that he may fly home, he has seen it. A green loftwing he knew very well. It was the loftwing that belonged with his old neighbor. 

Sky ran over to it, only to touch an unmoving body. 

It was dead. 

With a haste never usually associated with him, he threw himself onto his crimson, flying the fastest he had ever flown. He had to get home, he had to stop what was surely to become a lethal fall. He soared through the skies, through giant clouds and past those annoying crows that would try and peck him every time he passed. 

He was just in time to see his former neighbor jump from the platform. He could barely hear the whistle expecting a loftwing that would never come. 

Sky could do nothing but watch as the man fell past the cloud barrier, forever gone. 

The horrifying truth of Skyloft and its delusional people. 

They weren’t saved from the demons in the stories, they were trapped. 

The truth had never stopped haunting him. He never stopped having nightmares of that man falling past the clouds. Never stopped the rage from building inside him. 

Until the day it became so much worse. The day that marked the beginning of his quest to save Zelda and defeat the demon Demise. 

The day he thought his loftwing had perished all alone like all the others, and he was pushed to his end by none other than the woman he loved. 

Sky remembers not feeling his crimson, remembers being pushed off the platform and whistling for his other half. 

He remembers falling. He remembers no one coming for him. He remembers thinking that his life would end. 

He distantly wonders if he would have killed Groose when he learned that his near death would be at the hands of a jealous bafoon. He thinks he could. The rage was burning. 

  
  


Sky can barely feel himself standing up. Can barely feel his fist hit bark as his thoughts clutter.

No one believed him when he told them of the loftwing graveyard. 

_Pain._

He had to hide his pain and his rage behind false smiles.  
_Pain._

The way Zelda had looked at him when she admitted to having used him all that time. 

_Skin splitting around his knuckles._

Demise’s final words to him cursing him with eternal hatred. 

_Blood._

The fact that he couldn’t remember what his parents looked like. 

_Your fault._

_Your fault._

**_Your fault._ **

Sky screamed, and punched as hard as he could. However, instead of meeting the hard tree he had expected, his bloodied fist met skin. 

Everything stopped as he looked down to see Warriors holding his cheek with a pained expression. 

_Your fault._

“I-” he began to say, but his rage was still there, open for the world to see for the first time since- 

He couldn’t remember when he last let anyone see the true side of himself. 

Warriors looked up at him with concern. The situation is so absurd that Sky finds himself laughing. Why would anyone feel concerned for him? Why would anyone feel anything good for him? He, who had condemned his parents spirits, he who had tried to spread hysteria in his doomed home, he who had been used as a tool for a reincarnated goddess’ plans. 

He, who had cursed every single hero after him with his hatred.

Sky could feel tears on his cheeks, but he didn’t care anymore. He couldn’t hold it in anymore. All the years of hiding himself and his truth had come to an end, and with it, a broken mask. 

Through the haze he hears a strong voice. 

“Again.”  
It shocks him enough to look back at the owner of the voice. Warriors stands in front of him, cheek red and eyes a shining blue. 

“W-what?”  
“I said, again. Hit me again.”

Fire exploded once more inside him, and he did what he was asked. Again and again he landed blows, and Warriors took them all. Chest, stomach, ribs. 

He hit him again and again and again, until the fire dimmed. Until he could barely see past the tears obstructing his vision. Until he felt as strong as a new born baby, trembling and barely drawing blood from his own knuckles anymore. 

He feels himself fall into an embrace, hears himself heave for breath and cry like he has never cried before. Feels fingers brush his hair soothingly and a voice humming. 

“I got you,” Warriors said softly into his hair, and Sky lets it all out. 

He cries over the thought that he will never see Time's small, yet indescribably happy smile. He will never hear Wild call everyone for dinner. He will never have the honor of fighting alongside Time, nor will he ever feel Wild's soft and caring touches. 

He holds on to Warriors and sobs over all his losses, over every injustice ever done to him. Of all the hatred he had forced himself to harbor and all the guilt he was carrying.

It wasn’t his fault.


	3. Casting Shadows

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> God damn Four is kinda hard to write.

The sun rose slowly, bathing everything in a golden glow. The grass lit up, sparkling as the rays hit the morning dew drops gently hanging from the blades of green. It was beautiful, hauntingly so. Especially when considering what the night before had brought them. Sometimes the next day would cure everything. It would be the dawn of a new hope. The only shadows to exist were the ones they cast themselves. 

And wasn't that just the worst? 

Four knew there was only a matter of time before someone broke. He was secretly glad it wasn't him who broke first. At least, not in front of everyone.

In truth, he had been broken so long ago, he couldn't imagine being fractured any more than he already was. Yet as he listened to the echoes of Sky's cries, he could feel something was off about himself. Usually he would be indifferent to change, indifferent to tragedy and despair. This time, something had changed. He could feel his face turn into the indifferent mask he was so used to. blank, unresponsive, focused, if you asked a few select people. Inside, however, was a storm, slowly building.

When the winds of doubt inside him picked up, he found himself trying to quell them with labor. Labor always seemed to help, one way or another. But his options were rather limited this time. They were in the wilderness somewhere. He had barely any tools. He had no fire, nor any steel to melt and mold. His options were to sit with the dead, or do something else. 

God forbid one of them wanted to talk to him. That could not happen. Four wasn't sure if he would be a good person to either console, or be consoled right now. 

He would come across as rude, or cruel. 

He wouldn't be consoled, for his inner thoughts were all muddy and confused. 

Four had no idea how to handle this.

So it was with great desperation that he took the axe to the nearby trees. Both to serve as a symbol of how much he hated what the woods had taken from them, but also to make something from it to help the people he had left. 

After about an hour chopping and dragging, he had a rather large pile of timber to work with. 

No one else had approached, too busy staring into space, clutching the dead like they were only sleeping, staring into the small fire that had barely lasted the night, all trying their best to deny what had happened. Wishing so desperately that it was just some cruel joke, or a bad dream. 

Four went to work.

Carpentry was not what Four would usually consider a skill that he enjoyed. He could stand the burning heat of a forge, relish in the sound of metal hitting metal. Feel the vibration of the hammer hitting the molten metal, forming it into something beautiful.

This wasn’t beautiful. 

Wood wasn’t beautiful.

The way the wood splintered so easily, completely vulnerable and weak. The way it broke under his grip. Weak. Fragile. Like life. Like everything around him. 

He wanted stability.

He wanted his forge. He wanted the loud clangs and the deafening roar of the fire. He wanted to drown the voices screaming for control in his head. He had never truly thought about this before, but death was loud. Death was deafening. 

Even back to the first time he held a blade with the intent to kill, death had been impossibly loud. 

When Vaati and his madness crashed through the castle, killing anyone in his way, there had been confusion, shock, horror. 

Four could only think about how deafening the silence of the dead was. How despite it being so silent, so utterly quiet, it was still like screams to his ears. 

Maybe he was broken even back then. Before the Four sword beckoned once more after the forging. Before it tore him to pieces and left him fragmented, completely shattered.

In the place of one boy, there were four. Yet, still he was alone, despite being several people at once. 

It’s funny, really. How everyone around him believes he’s mature and so well put together. They believe he has achieved something incredibly rare; peace with himself. 

It’s his best kept secret. 

There is a constant battle to keep all of him together as one cohesive unit. Ever since they cast away the true Link. The real one, thrown aside like worthless trash. What remained was a mix of what that naive child believed a hero should be. Some strange fractured person that only carried positive traits, born out of fairy tales and bedtime stories. Everything that child was, would be shattered slowly as time went on, and the heavier his burden, the further back the true child was pushed. He was pushed so far back into Link’s mind, that he became one with the shadows. When the Four Sword was finally forged, that shadowed part of him was split off from the other false fragments. In reality, he was shattered beyond repair. Split into two beings known as false and true. And then the false side had further split into four. 

Four wonders if he had tried to contact them. If the other fragments were too occupied with themselves and their quest that they failed to see him screaming from the darkness. 

He doesn't know, and he will never know. 

He'll never know if his Shadow tried to come back into the light. He'll never know if they could have saved him. He'll never know if it was his fault that he became an enemy. 

No, he's wrong. They are wrong. Four knows they are to blame. Four knows they were too occupied with themselves to notice the real Link disappear. They had never entertained the idea that they were ever in the wrong. They had split in a confusing time, struggling to work together, to trust one another. 

And wasn't that just sad? 

What had remained after the true aspects of Link disappeared was a scattered mess of expectations, false masks and lies. Everything Four is, everything they have become, is a cruel lie and a horrible set of traits that were never truly Link.

Four placed his hammer down, distantly noticing the sun starting its descent yet again. He had been hacking and cutting for several hours without realising it. Without taking a proper break. 

He didn't deserve one. 

He kept working, sawing the wood into what could pass for planks, trying his best to make them all even and the same size. 

His thoughts raced, several voices screaming their thoughts and views. Arguing and crying and slowly working towards a final thought that they all agreed upon. 

We were never Link.

Four can feel his breath hiccuping. He refuses to stop working. He can't. He won't. 

The real Link was pushed so far away from the aspects that were made from expectations of Link. So far away from them that he was alone in the darkness. So lonely, that he accepted anyone who would show him even the slightest attention and mercy. 

Someone like Vaati, finding him in the dark and taking him in. Feeding him sweet words, and even sweeter lies to the point where he would twist reality and create an enemy. Until Link, Shadow, would become someone trying to hinder the Four. 

And yet, when Four thought back, really thought back to their encounters, Shadow had only been playing around. He had been the child Link deserved to be, corrupted and granted powers that would seriously harm others. Shadow never truly understood that his actions were harmful. He had giggled, looked at them all with delight and mirth shining in his eyes. 

They had all taken that to be an evil smirk, taunting them. 

In fact, the first time they clashed, Four had attacked Shadow first. Shadow had been laughing and playing, and Four had not been amused in the slightest. The moment he lashed out, Shadow had been confused and fought erratically. 

Shadow had been surprised, and had been scared. These people sharing his face wanted to kill him. Of course he fought back. Of course he ran when he was close to dying.

It hadn't been enough, in the end. Four had won. He had won a terrible battle, one that they all thought were righteous. 

It wasn't. 

He can't believe it took him so many years to finally realise what was wrong with him.

Four was broken so badly that barely any of the original Link remained in him. In them.

His work turned sloppy. The wood under his hands felt too smooth. 

He had worked on the same spot for the last half hour. He couldn't bring himself to care. 

His mind was filled with so many memories of where everything went wrong. 

Slowly trying to become something he was not. Pushing the way everyone at the castle made him feel when they spoke to him, when all he could see in his mind were their blank eyes staring at nothing in death. Delivering that final slash at Shadow, killing him forever. 

Time staggering and falling to the ground as Wild was coated in his blood. 

The way their bodies lay so still on the ground just on the other side of the camp they made. 

The fact that he would never be whole again. The fact that he was left working with wood, when he had promised Wild a sword. 

The fact that Time had promised to speak to him about something secret and something important. 

He'd never know now. He'd never be able to make an unbreakable sword, and he'd never be able to finally tell someone his secrets. He'd never find solace in Time's calm and collected words. He'd never be able to tell someone about Shadow who could understand what he meant.

Suddenly, there was warmth in his hands, and he looked up to see Sky staring at him. 

The light from the camp illuminated him more than the sun was. 

Had he been working the whole day? 

Four blinked, confused at the passage of time. He looked down to see Sky's hands holding his tightly. He was bleeding. 

He really hadn't stopped working.

Sky pulled him up, and like a small child, Four followed to a more private corner where some bed rolls and blankets had been set up. Another fire was flickering near them as Sky guided him to sit down. Soon, a blanket was pulled over his form, and some sad excuse for a meal pushed into his hands. 

"I can't cook much, so this will have to do," Sky spoke so softly, his voice trembling and rough. Maybe screaming like he had the day before really did take a toll on him. 

Four didn't reply, only sat there, staring at him.

Sky didn't push him further. He had let go of Four completely, and was currently whittling something with more force than was necessary. 

Four wasn't sure what to do. Sky was... angry?

_ "He was angry last night too." _

_ "He's trying to cope." _

_ "He's going to hurt himself if he pushes the blade further." _

_ "He's grieving. But he's grieving something more than our comrades." _

**"Just like us."**

The voices inside his head were actually agreeing on something, and wasn't that just hilarious. A goddamn joke that they never agreed on anything good, or happy. But, they were agreeing. Even if they didn't shut the hell up.

Everything is so loud. Everything was always so loud. 

Why couldn't everything be quiet for once? Why couldn't he catch a break? 

Four grabbed a piece of what had probably once been a vegetable, and bit down into it. 

He could feel tears fill his vision. 

He just wanted some peace. Why was the world so unfair and cruel?

The whittling noises stopped, and a hand added some comfortable weight on one shoulder. 

"I know Im shit at cooking, but it can't have been that bad," Sky muttered, grabbing a piece of the grilled vegetables and chewing slowly. 

"Alright, they are pretty bad."

Maybe it was the absurdity of it all. Maybe it was the fact that he had gone so long in so much noise. Maybe it was the fact that Sky still tried to keep his emotions in check. 

For whatever reason, the tears slid down Four's face stubbornly, and his chest started bubbling with a hysterical laughter.

The other hero stiffened, unsure of what to do as he sat there, staring at Four clutching his own stomach and laughing and crying at the same time. 

It was uncomfortable, watching as the one person whom everyone thought was a rock, breaking into tiny fragile pebbles. Four laughed and laughed, and tried in vain to stop his tears. He gave up pretty quickly, deeming it well enough to press his body into Sky's, and burying his face in his chest. The chosen hero found his arms cradling the smaller hero automatically, and when the laughter died down and the hiccups started, he rubbed his hands up and down Four's back.

"It's so loud," Four whimpered in his hold. 

"It's always so loud, and I can't hear them all. They keep screaming and yelling and arguing, and I can't understand what they are saying. It's so loud, and I can't think for myself anymore."

Sky moved his hand to Four's head, playing with the golden strands soothingly. He didn't understand what Four meant, but he didn't want him to stop talking. Four never broke down, never had issues to deal with. At least none he would speak up about. 

A few moments passed by with just their breathing and the crackle of the fire being heard. 

"Everyone thinks I'm crazy," the small voice continued. "And I think I am. I think they are right. I'm not-" he paused, taking a shaking breath. 

"I'm not what I should be.  _ We _ aren't what we should be. We're confusing and horrible to each other and we never agree on anything, and our head can't take it anymore."

Four pushed himself closer to Sky, as he kept whimpering. 

"We're sorry, we're sorry, we're sorry, we're sorry!"

"Four, why are you sorry?" 

It was as if his words were a spell, causing Four to suddenly jump up and crawl away from him. He touched the Four Sword, and a burst of light blinded Sky for just a few moments before, in place of one hero, were four.

One for each color of his tunic. One green, standing defiant and glaring at the one in red. The red one glared right back with a fierce expression. 

The blue one was hovering over another copy, looking distressed and sad, while the final one wearing a violet tunic was huddled on the ground, looking confused and scared.

"You know we needed to do something about this, and you know that you're not the one to take the initiative!" the red Four growled at the green one. 

"And your idea of doing something about this was to expose us to everyone! You know why we keep this a secret!" the green one shouted back, crossing his arms and puffing his chest to appear bigger. 

The two were completely overlooking the other two, too occupied in their argument and what was looking like a starting brawl. 

Sky jumped in between them. 

"Hey, whoa. Wait a second, what the hell is going on?" he held up his hands in surrender when the two Fours glared at him. 

"This isn't about you," the green one hissed. 

"It's involving him though. You said so yourself; this was a secret and you are scared that he would do something horrible with this information!" the red one's voice increased in volume the more he spoke. His body language was all over the place, arms waving and back slightly bent. The green one stood like an unmoving rock.

A small voice cut through the argument. 

"Vio, please talk to me."

Sky and the arguing Fours turned to look at the remaining ones. The blue one was sitting in front of the violet one, trying his best to get the other one to respond. He had tears running down his cheeks as he tried shaking the other out of his funk physically. 

"Vio, we can't do this on our own anymore," the blue one sniffled, voice breaking. 

The violet one did not respond. He kept staring blankly into nothing and was muttering something under his breath too quiet to be heard. 

"What's wrong?" Sky asked, leaving the fighting Fours behind to sit down on his knees in front of the blue and violet Fours. The other two would have to get over their argument on their own. These two clearly needed some outside help first. 

The blue Four looked up at him, his expression that of deep sorrow and worry. 

"He keeps going through everything that went wrong. I think he is trying to find out where we failed and where we could have stopped all the bad that has happened." 

He sniffed again, and brought his hands up to dry his tears. 

"Can you try talking to him, Sky? He won't listen to me anymore."

Sky nodded, and the blue Four gave him a small smile, before he headed over to the other two. 

Sky could hear him scold them, calming them down with scathing words and stabs at their core beings. 

He turned to look at the violet one. 

"Hey, Four?" Nothing. No reaction. 

"Um, Vio?" he tried, getting a small reaction from the other. 

"You're Vio, right?" 

Ears flickered slightly. 

"Oh good, that's less confusing. You are all named after the colors on your tunics, yeah?" 

Vio chanced a glance at Sky, and nodded slightly. His eyes were slowly focusing. 

"Can you tell me what's wrong? I don't need to know any secrets or anything, but Four said everything was noisy and he wanted some quiet. Do you think I can help?"

Vio looked up at him, blinking in stunned silence. The others stared at him in silence too. 

Sky was beginning to wonder if he had said anything wrong, until the violet one spoke for the first time.

"It's too much, sometimes. And it's not going away. We can't change anything, and we can't prevent anything, and we are too different to really share a body when things go wrong."

He uncurled from the tight ball he had locked himself into, and took a deep breath. 

"I have to find something to preoccupy my thoughts, or I spiral like you just saw. Blue has a need to let his emotions out and have a nice cry. Red has a tendency to attack when Four feels hurt because Red needs to protect us. Green has a deep desire to be in control, but he can't when he doesn't know what to do, so he becomes stagnant."

Vio sat a little straighter, hugging himself. 

"We are so different, and we are the same person, or aspects of the same person. But when something goes very wrong, we can't decide how to deal with it, and we argue and fight each other instead of helping each other."

"And you can't come out, or your secret is exposed," Sky muttered. 

Vio smiled an uneasy smile. 

"Exactly."

"How long have you been fighting?"

Sky waited patiently for an answer as the four gathered close to him. 

It was the green one who spoke up. 

"For years. Ever since we came into being, really. It's so..." he struggled to find the right word. 

"Loud," Red whispered. 

"So loud," Blue agreed. 

"And confusing," Vio grunted. 

The four stared at the ground in unison, all energy spent. All waiting for Sky to judge them.

Sky did the only thing he could think of. He threw the blankets over them all, and settled in. 

"You don't have to say anything else," he spoke softly as he gathered up the fragments of Four the best he could. "You can't change what has happened, and you don't always have to agree. But you don't have to say anything like this either, do you?"

He picked up the discarded wood and continued his whittling. 

He could feel the four bodies slowly catching on, and one by one they settled close to him, slowly falling into a peaceful slumber. 

Finally, it was quiet.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So you might have noticed, but I don't use the characterisation of the fragments from the manga. I tend to dislike the mangas in general. Even if some of them have some fun ideas, I don't feel like they are taken to a really fun place.  
> But, since Four's design used the manga colors, I decided to at least use the same colors to represent the fragments. And I HC them as different with both strengths and weaknesses of their own. None of them are a fully realised person, but thats the struggle with Four, isn't it? 
> 
> Green: Green is assertive and confident, and he knows his place in the world. Green is the leader type. He only acts on issues he has experience with, or is superior in, and he uses that to take control. His problem is that he comes across as arrogant, and he is very easily jealous.
> 
> Red: Red is passion. Everything Red does is fuelled by powerful emotion. He is creative, he is happiness, he is fury, he is hate, he is the driving force of Four.  
> He was born from Link’s wish to be better, to do better, to forge more. However, this passion can also be dangerous. Red is the most likely fragment to attack from even the smallest signs of provocation. 
> 
> Blue: Blue is Four’s sadness. Blue is self doubt, yet this self doubt is what normally keeps Green and Red in check. Blue is a direct force to stop Four from being too angry, or too egotistical, or too arrogant. Yet Blue isn't only sadness, and sadness isn't always a bad thing. Somber feelings tend to bring a calm to enable Four to think clearly. Blue is the calm in the storm.
> 
> Violet: Violet, is Four's intellectual interest. He knows a lot, he actively seeks knowledge, and is a strategist. He is starved for knowledge, and desperate to get it. He will do whatever he can to get what he wants. Vio is Four's cunning, and it's this cunning and desire for knowledge that makes him cold. Vio can either turn a blind eye to others so long as he gains the knowledge he seeks, or he can hit a serious stump when he can't figure things out and he spirals.
> 
> Shadow: Shadow was a very special fragment, containing so much more than just base emotion and concepts. Shadow was the part of Link that was slowly driven out by the expectations of the people. The parts that wouldn't fit into the Hero. Naivety, childishness, playfulness, mischievousness, daydreaming, innocence. The true Link that was sacrificed for the good of Hyrule.


	4. Stories of life

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sea boy is here

Most people see him, small, childlike, soft, and they create an image of what they think he should be like. Often they settle on words that seem so far from their mark. Innocent. Child. Incapable.   
They never seem to realise how wrong they are, and how much he has done for them all. Well, with the exception of a very select few people. Precious people. People who have seen what he is capable of, who trust his judgement, yet they still treat him as the child he wished he could allow himself to be.   
But he can’t. It’s too late for innocence. 

He understands. Of course he does. And he’s grateful for the few times he is allowed to feel like a child. The times where he can try to push back the worries of the world, and play around as if he’s a toddler. But eventually, time moves on, and life returns with its crushing reality.   
A small moment to catch his breath.   
That’s all it is. That’s all it ever is.

It’s been a few days now. Since that night. He feels as though he is the only one who understands. The only one who stays true to who he is, and what he feels. Everyone else is hiding behind masks, or work. None of them with the exception of Legend have neared the bodies, and even he didn’t touch them. Only Wind has. Only Wind continues to.   
He holds their hand, and he brushes his thumb over their palms as if they were still here. And what if they are? What if their souls are trapped in their bodies, unable to be free of this prison? Wind doesn’t know how long someone’s soul stayed with their body after death. Not without a proper pyre. A soul would be trapped if it wasn’t returned to its natural state. At least, that’s what grandma and Orca said about it when the storm had hit. Back when Wind was smaller than he is now, and Aryll was very little. Back when they still had parents.   
Holding his dear friends’ hands gave him a luxury he never had when he last lost someone dear to him. It’s strange, he thinks, how quickly his cries died, and how much relief seeing their bodies brought him. Solace in such morbid ways. 

There is such a massive contrast. Wind looks down at the still bodies as he slowly cleans the blood from their pale skin. They are quiet. Calm. In his memories, death is violent and loud. Storms pushing the sea into chaos, winds ripping houses from their foundations. Screams of people being dragged away by fierce winds, and finally being lost forever. Death was so loud, but this one was quiet.   
He looks around, wondering how the others were doing. Warriors and Legend were looking at maps, planning their next move. They had stayed here far too long, considering the events of a few days ago. Sky and Four seemed to find solace in each other, sitting off to the side of the camp, working together on what looked like a cart for the bodies. It was almost finished, only lacking the wheels to pull their precious cargo.   
Hyrule was sitting in front of the fire, staring into a cooking pot with such sorrow and confusion.   
Ah. Food. 

Wind remembers spending days staring at the calm ocean, flashes of the storm fading in and out with the waves. He remembers the panic when the winds and the seas became one. Remembers the terror when he realised he’d be caught outside in it, trying all he could to get Aryll to safety.   
She was so small, and he wasn’t much bigger, not really. For the first time in his life, Wind truly understood what it meant to be small and helpless. The winds were growing in ferocity, pushing them over and sending them tumbling in several different directions before he regained his footing somehow. He tried making out any landmarks, tried to remember where they were, but his vision had turned misty and grey.   
Suddenly his eyes caught something, a glimmer of hope, salvation.   
A small opening in the rock nearby.  
With strength he didn’t know he possessed, he picked up his little sister and ran for the cave. He pushed her in through the tiny gap first, realising with great relief that the cave was bigger than the opening itself. Aryll went through, desperately clinging to his arms as he himself squeezed through the gap.   
They were safe from the storm.   
Aryll cradled in his arms and whimpering, the shockingly quiet noise ringing loudly over the raging elements outside.   
“It’s okay”, he soothed her, rocking her and petting her head. “We’re okay”. 

The next day, the storm had passed, and the two children left their sanctuary to find their world shattered. Their family was torn apart.   
The storm had taken mom and dad away, had torn their house asunder, along with half the island. Two of Wind’s close friends had been taken by the storm as well, and his remaining friend moved with her family soon after.   
Aryll was too young to truly understand. Wind was too, until he saw how the news affected his grandmother. Her open grief and sorrowful acceptance made him realise the true meaning of losing someone so dear to him.   
He would never be able to return his parents to the sea like he was supposed to. He would never be able to make new memories, or learn from dad’s wisdom, or mom’s courage.   
The crushing despair hit him with such a force, he couldn’t ever understand how he would find the light again, how to fill his lungs with air, how to smile and laugh. All he could focus on was the sheer thought of his loss. How his loved ones would never be there again, how he would forever feel that empty hole inside him. In a way, he felt like a lesser being for having lost them. 

One would think such thoughts are too heavy for a child, but they understand. Children understand more than what adults give them credit for, and Wind and Aryll were no different.   
The adults of the island tried to spare them the harsh reality of life and death, and while the thought was appreciated, Wind all but welcomed the attention he got. He felt so numb, had no idea how to process the loss. His grandmother, ever wise, had sat them both down by the fireplace of her house, miraculously still standing despite the torrents of the sea.   
She began to tell them stories.   
Stories of a grandfather Wind had never known. He too had been taken by the sea, a devout sailor, to return to the waters from where they all originated.   
Grandmother told them the legends of the heroes of the ancient lands, slumbering beneath the waves. Their ancestral land, far back into the pages of history. She spoke of the old gods who had raised the waters over the kingdom, and gifted their people the seas. How the sea gives and takes equally, and that the gods were rarely understood by mortals such as themselves.   
Then, stories of how their parents had met. How their father, grandmother’s son, had learned their fishing trade from his father, and had met their mother in seas far to the north. How they had fallen in love, after their mother had jumped into rough waters to save their father from drowning. How their mother was the most powerful swimmer their grandmother had ever known. 

Mom never feared anything. She would dive deep beneath the waves, her lungs holding in air for several minutes at a time. Wind remembers how she would do breathing exercises at the beach or the cliffs, before performing the most graceful dives. She could be reckless, throwing herself off safe ground just to retrieve trinkets children had lost from their boats. She would dive after the most beautiful shells, and she often came back up with fresh crabs for dinner.   
Wind remembers the smile in her voice as she told him of the sea’s embrace. How she could stay under for so long, and still feel safe. She knew the risks, yet all she could feel was an overwhelming sense of right, being under the waves.   
Dad would jokingly call her a zora. 

Dad was the smartest person Wind knew. He had seen so much, read so many books. He knew how to sail and had promised he would teach Wind one day, when he was older. Wind thought it tragic that he died before he could teach him, but grandma only smiled and said he was more like his mother, and he’d find a way to learn on his own terms.   
While Wind favored his mothers ways, Aryll took to their father. She would stay up with him past bedtime, only to pour over old stories and books filled with all sorts of knowledge.   
Aryll is probably the smartest sibling, Wind thinks. She’s sneaky too, something she definitely picked up from dad. Dad always knew how to haggle prices, how to dig for information without being found out, how to plan voyages and to account for emergencies. 

The stories of their family slowly made him feel. Not much, but a spark of something here and there. Some sort of happy, some sort of sad.Some even slightly angry, until it faded into the emptiness he had felt before. Yet something had settled.   
The day after, they had a ceremony to honor the departed. A small gathering and an offering to the gods of the seas. The adults spoke of how grateful they were to have known the people who were taken from them, and while they expressed sorrow, they mostly seemed happy. Wind didn’t understand it. He left the ceremony with confusion raging in his thoughts.   
Without a place to go, his feet took him to the paths he always had taken when he sought comfort. Home. Or, what used to be home. Now it was just an empty spot of rubble and barely anything of value.   
Wind remembers staring at the wreckage of his house, where he once felt so safe. Another storm starts brewing, but this storm is nothing like the one from a few days prior. This storm is growing in his mind, confusion, terror, anger, sorrow. All of it boiling into a furious storm.   
He starts searching the rubble for any shred of his life, anything to hold onto. His hands cut open on sharp splinters, but he ignores the stinging pain and he keeps digging. He doesn’t fully know what he is searching for, what he thinks he’ll find. Some small part of him wants to desperately find his parents under the broken wood and stone. There is no solace to be found. There is nothing there.   
He remembers feeling his breath coming in hiccups. It was so hard to breathe, to see past the blurry vision of his tears finally emerging. He doesn’t remember how long he sits there, surrounded by what used to be his home. The sun moves across the sky, its light reflected in something in the rubble.   
Slowly he moves, hands desperately searching for the light. What he finds isn’t what he expects.   
A joy pendant.   
The same joy pendant his mother had gifted his father when she proposed to him. 

Suddenly the storm inside him was let loose. All the sorrow burst from him as memories of his parents flooded him. Their smiles, their voices, the warmth coming from them as they hugged him and Aryll close.   
The joy and laughter they had once shared, the rush of adrenaline as his mother jumped from a cliff with him in her arms. The weight of a caring hand as his father dried his hair with a warm towel. The wonder and awe as Aryll was born.   
Wind cradled the pendant close, and cried like he had never done before. Let the skies know what they had taken from him. Let all of Outset know how much they had lost.   
And when the tears finally stopped coming and he could breathe steadier, the memories of his mothers words came to him.   
“The waters are where we came from, little one. And we must return to it one day. We belong to the sea, and so we must love it as our own mother”.   
He takes one deep breath, and stands up, pulling the pendant over his head. His sorrow isn’t gone, but he feels a little better. He knows he can be there for his sister and grandma. He needs to be strong for them now.   
He takes one final look at what used to be his home, and then, the smooth tones of his fathers voice rings through his head.   
“A home is where you are loved, Link. It is not a place, but the people you surround yourself with”.  
He leaves the rubble, and walks back to grandma’s house, where Aryll is waiting for him. He walks home. 

“Hey, you okay?” Legend’s voice breaks through his daydreaming. Wind blinks and looks up to see him standing in front of him, ice rod at the ready.   
“I’m alright”, Wind responds, and sends a questioning glance at the magical rod.  
“For the bodies”, Legend says, voice thick with emotion. “It’s easier if we use the ice rod, so you don't have to concentrate your magic”. Oh, right, he did feel a bit tired.  
Wind sat up from his post, dismissing the ice arrows.   
The veteran hero gave him a pat on the shoulder.   
“Get some rest, kid. I’ll take over for a while”.

Wind finds himself making a beeline for the cooking pot, where Hyrule has managed to make some sort of barely passable soup.   
Food is really not the first thing a grieving person prioritises, he remembers. As long as it’s around, one would easily eat, but finding the energy to make it was another story. Not to mention the fact that cooking was one of Wild’s skills.   
Hyrule makes a sad sound in the back of his throat at the taste of his soup, and sighs, holding onto the still full bowl, but not taking another sip.   
Wind stares at his own portion, slowly sipping from it and ignoring the taste completely.   
When he is halfway done, he speaks up.   
“Remember the time Wild spiked the food with that goron spice of his?”   
Hyrule looks up, confusion in his tired eyes, yet there is a glimmer of something else in those green eyes.   
A flicker of hope. 

Wind smiled, and continued. Kept talking about the fun memories he had of Time and Wild. Kept talking about all the pranks Wild could come up with, and Time’s smiling eyes. How Time was actually the best prankster out of all of them, and that no one would ever be able to best him. How Wild would tell the most outrageous tales, and the only way to know he was telling the truth was to judge how insane it sounded. The more insane, the closer to the truth.   
How Time could say just about anything, and no one would ever be able to tell if he was joking or not. Wind talked and talked, until suddenly, someone else joined in. More tales about their beloved dead, and more voices joining in. 

Wind might be their youngest. He might still be considered a child.   
But Wind knows how to grieve, he knows how to move past the terrible storm.   
He knows how to shed his sorrows, knows how to cry, knows how to allow himself to feel whatever he feels.   
Wind knows how to find his smile again. 

Warriors pulls the wool blanket over Wind’s sleeping form, admiration shining in his eyes.   
“Sleep well, little sailor”, he whispers, watching as Wind curls into the new warmth around him.   
“We’ll have to rely on your strength a little longer. I hope you don’t mind”.   
He watches as everyone but Legend has found someplace to rest for the night.   
Warriors sighs, and wishes that their youngest didn’t have to be the most mature about his grief.   
But he welcomes it with open arms, and trusts in his comrade’s strength.   
He might be the hope they need in the coming days.


End file.
